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I wasn't going to stay.

That was my plan, anyway. I was going to get my gen ed-courses out of the way, transfer to the University of Adelphos, and never think about Burnley College ever again.

But then, about halfway through the fall semester, I got bored -- wait, no, that's not right. To be completely honest, I got lonely.

By October, my class had splintered into myriad different cliques: athletic team jocks, drama students, fraternity brothers and sorority sisters, religious life true believer, student government nerds -- you name it -- who each had their go-to table in the dining hall.

And then there was me, the perpetually unaffiliated.

Not for a lack of trying, though. I did all the First Week stuff -- the scavenger hunt, the team obstacle course, the cookout on the south quad -- but the relationships I made during them were fleeting. By the time classes started, we stopped sitting together at lunch. By midterms, we didn't even say hello when we passed one another in the hallways.

I honestly didn't know whether I was going to come back after winter break. But then a couple of surprising A's showed up on my transcript, and it gave me enough of a push for me to resolve to put my head down and power through the spring semester. I loaded the trunk of my car and my schedule of classes and headed back to Burnley.

But it's not like I have Dr. Jensen's unexpected A in Intro to Global History to thank for my decision to stay at Burnley. A lot of the credit goes to a certain Director of Membership Development for the Beta Alpha Chapter of Gamma Delta Gamma Fraternity.

In that chapter, by the way, the Director of Membership Development goes by a different nickname: "pledge dad."

...

"Hey, are you rushing?"

The voice stopped me as I was crossing the academic square on my way to the history building one day in early February. It belonged to a bull, who -- I'm not going to mince words here -- looked like someone I would normally hate.

He was at least a full head taller than me, and his muscular torso seemed to block out the sun. He was also dressed like a stereotypical frat boy idiot -- boat shoes, plaid shorts, and a t-shirt advertising some fraternity party two year with the theme "Pimps & Hoes." He had torn the sleeves and then some off the shirt, exposing his sides and much of his chest for anyone to see.

The bull pushed a piece of paper into my hands.

"No?" I said, frowning up at him. "I mean, I have class in fifteen minutes, but it's right over there in the Wells building."

It took the big, brown bull a second to process my words. Then he barked with laughter, the nose ring piercing his septum dancing. "No, no, rushing -- like, joining a fraternity," he said.

"Oh." I looked at the piece of paper I had been handed. It was a sign up-form. "I don't think so, but I haven't really thought about it."

"Well, you should, dude!" the bull said. "I'm in Gamma Delta Gamma. We do study hall, and philanthropy events, and -- yeah -- we throw a helluva party every now and then, if you're into that kind of stuff."

"Yeah, I'll think about it," I said, making to put the form in my bookbag.

"You know," the bull said before I could do so, putting a hand on my forearm, "if you fill out the form now, I could take it back up to the student life office and make sure you're all set for next week."

I looked up at the bull again, feeling the fur on the back of my neck standing up in response to his touch. There was a boyish mischievousness about the bull's smile. Far from the obnoxious first impression he had made, I now thought there was something endearing about him. I fought the urge to bite my lower lip and felt instantly more interesting in rushing.

The bull handed me a pen out of nowhere, and I wrote down my personal information, high school grade point average, and... something else -- I honestly can't recall. My hand trembled as I felt the bull's gaze on me.

"Solid," the bull said, snatching the form from me the moment I was finished. "Looking forward to next week."

He grinned and crushed my hand with his. "Oh, and I'm Thomas, by the way, but most people call me 'Maverick.'"

...

The first night of rush was set up like a speed dating event during which we visited each fraternity's house. I spent most of the evening hiding in corners and clutching a can of soda, doing my best to avoid engaging anyone in conversation.

My strategy wasn't entirely successful. At the Pi Kappa Psi house, for example, one of the brothers came up to me and asked me point-blank what fraternity I was hoping to join.

I feigned neutrality and shrugged.

"That's cool," the ram said. After a pause, he added, completely unprompted, "I hear the Gamma D's sit around and jerk off together."

One of the other members of the fraternity who was walking by at that moment overheard us and bellowed "Guys Doing Guys!" with a whoop of laughter.

"OK," I said, and kept my mouth shut until the ram got the message and walked away.

After what felt like an eternity, one of the organizers sounded an air horn, and we were whisked away to the next house.

I felt dejected on the walk over. Of course fraternities would be full of homophobes, I thought to myself. I reflected briefly on the fact that a fraternity that featured communal jerk off-sessions would actually be a selling point for me rather than -- as the ram had implied -- a deal breaker.

We stopped in front of our next destination -- a colonial-style mansion prominently adorned with an upside-down L, a triangle, and another upside-down L.

I squinted as I attempted to recite the Greek alphabet in my head. I had looked up during a long, lonesome study session in the library that previous weekend. I knew the triangle meant "Delta," but the upside-down L --

"He-hey, buddy!" It was Maverick, greeting me like an old friend as he pulled me out of the crowd.

He immediately launched into a tour of the house, which showed the obvious wear and tear of having accommodating dozens of college-aged boys over the year. The wood floors were badly scratched in certain spots, the recycling bins in the kitchen were overflowing with empty cans of cheap beer, and seemingly no matter which room we were in, there would always be two or more mismatched couches.

Maverick talked nonstop about the history of the fraternity, his tail swishing excitedly, stopping every now and then to point at portraits of members of the chapter throughout the years. I did my best to pay attention, but frequently found myself staring at how his biceps filled out the sleeve of his polo shirt as he pointed. I thought about the homemade wife beater he had worn when we first had met and felt my mouth going dry.

Eventually he returned to the talking points he had mentioned when we first met -- the academics, the parties, the philanthropic work --

"-- and obviously it's a good way to meet girls," he added with a sly grin.

"That's not really going to be a selling point for me," I said, determined to be honest after the conversation at the previous fraternity house. "I'm gay."

"Or guys," Maverick said, pivoting immediately. "We've got gay brothers too -- that's cool. Cool, cool."

I was relieved to hear his response. The air horn sounded again. Our time was up.

We walked back to the entrance hall together. I stopped him just before we rejoined the others.

"Why did you decide to join this fraternity?" I asked, pointing at the floorboards. "I get the parties and all that other stuff, but the rest of the guys down the street all gave me that same speech. What's so special about this one?"

A big grin spread slowly across Maverick's face. He looked around the entrance hall.

"It's really about finding a group of guys you connect with, and a place that can be your home away from home," he said earnestly. "And -- this may sound stupid, but it's the best explanation I've heard." He cleared his throat and recited the words solemnly, his dark eyes sparkling: "'From the outside, you can't understand it. From the inside, you can't explain it.'"

...

Three days later I eagerly accepted an invitation -- a "bid," in Greek life lingo -- to join Gamma Delta Gamma.

"Pledgeship," as they called the process of becoming a brother of the chapter, soon gave me plenty to do outside of taking a full load. Most of it seemed to involve memorizing names of dead people and important dates.

Luckily I was good at memorization, which proved useful whenever brothers ambushed me between classes, demanding to know the address of the fraternity's central office, or the year in which the Alpha chapter had moved from Wyndham to Albion, among other factoids.

Then, of course, there were the ridiculous rules that we had to follow, like not being able to step on the lines on the concrete sidewalk, carrying a pet rock wherever we went, or having to answer "And a fine morning to you as well, Brother so-and-so!" whenever a brother wished us a good morning, which -- trust me -- they did all the damn time.

The brothers -- particularly the upperclassmen -- did their best to fuck with me and the other pledges. They banded together to steal our pet rocks, sending us staged photos of the rocks in perilous situations (like sitting in the middle of the road), and then made us clean their rooms to earn them back. They claimed spots in line for food in the dining hall and the best seats in the fraternity house TV room by calling out "brother number" -- essentially exploiting their seniority within the chapter. Sometimes I heard older brothers use the same technique to trump a younger brother's claim. It was all very confusing.

Pledgeship wasn't all trivia and tricks, however. There were some earnest attempts to educate us on the perils of life in college, including seminars on sexual assault prevention and alcohol abuse.

And then there were the pledgeship activities. Every Thursday night, we would report to the chapter hall, don our blindfolds, and wait for that week's activity to begin.

These were experiences and challenges that every brother in the chapter had endured, passed down from class to class until their origins grew murky. With each passing week and completed activity, we felt we were drawing ever closer to unraveling the secrets of the fraternity and take our place as full brothers of the chapter.

Some of the activities were highly ceremonial, like an early one during which we participated in an elaborate initiation ceremony -- complete with brothers dressed in robes solemnly reciting oaths for us to repeat -- to mark the official beginning of the pledgeship period.

Other events were a lot simpler, like the night when we had to sleep in shifts to ensure that a single candle remained burning until dawn. The flame, we were told, represented the fraternity. (Let's just say pledgeship featured a lot of heavy-handed symbolism in general.)

But I had to admit that a lot of it was fun. Despite the growing sense of dread every Thursday leading up to a new pledgeship activity, the only paddles I saw were decorative, and the threats of making us fuck a feral goat never materialized.

...

The first pledgeship activity was perhaps also the most memorable, simply because we didn't know what to expect. After blindfolding ourselves, we were led out of the house, loaded into cars, and driven around town until we lost track of where we were.

When we finally pulled over, I couldn't tell if we had been driving for minutes or hours. The brother driving the car stepped out and closed the door behind him, leaving me and the other pledges -- I couldn't tell how many of us were sandwiched in the back seat -- in silence.

I heard the rumble of voices outside the car but couldn't make out the words.

After a minute of breathless silence, one of the other pledge whispered "Where do you guys think we are?"

I shrugged. "I don't --"

"Shut up, pledge!" a voice in the passenger seat roared.

I nearly jumped out of my fur -- apparently one of the brothers had remained in the car to keep an eye on us.

The voices outside were drawing closer. Without warning, the door I had been leaning on was ripped open. I fell out of the car and landed on the ground. Head spinning, I attempted to push myself to my feet. I felt dirt under my paws.

"Good evening, pledges!" one of the brothers said in a sing-song voice.

A handful of the pledges, myself included, began to respond with a dutiful "And a fine evening to you as well, brother --"

"No!" the voice cut us off. "That's not a rule! It only applies when a brother says 'Good morning, pledge!'" He sighed theatrically. "I gotta tell ya, these have got to be some of the worst pledges I've ever seen," he said, presumably to another brother, though more than loud enough for us to hear.

The other brother chuckled. "Yep, looks like we're gonna have to hold them over to next semester," he said.

I felt a rough pair of hands grab me by the shoulders and pull me to my feet.

"Arms up!" a voice said.

I raised my hands as though held at gunpoint. Someone lowered them to rest on something -- a pair of shoulders, I quickly realized.

"March!"

Our blindfolded procession obeyed, picking up speed slowly like a train accelerating out of a station.

I could only imagine that we were well outside of town, far from anyone who might stop and ask why more than a dozen college students were marching with their arms on one another's shoulders like some blind conga line. The roughness of the path beneath my paths had me wondering if we were marching down some dirt road.

After several minutes of marching, a brother ordered us to stop. A set of hands tore me from the pledge in front of me and place me side by side with someone else. I thought I felt him tremble, or maybe it was me.

"Blindfolds off," I heard a voice say. I knew that voice -- it was Maverick.

I removed my blindfold and looked up. Maverick was standing in front of us, leaning on a gigantic sword, his expression severe. Behind him stood the rest of the brothers. The scene was bathed in red; the brothers had parked their cars next to each other, illuminating the woods around us by brake lights.

Maverick and the rest of the chapter stared at us in silence for a moment, making us take in the scene.

Then came Maverick's next command: "On your knees, pledges."

"Yes, dad," the pledges responded in unison.

I sank to my knees and heard the crunch of last fall's dead leaves all around me. With a pang, I realized that my cock was beginning to poke out of my sheath, triggered by the sound of the bull commanding us in that deep rumble to kneel before him.

I averted my gaze from Maverick, scanning the forest floor for something to take my mind off him. Looking behind us, I saw about a dozen tails wagging nervously, belying their owners' clenched jaws and serious expressions.

Maverick was making himself hard to ignore, however. He walked up and down the row of kneeling pledges, the sword resting on his shoulder.

"You have all accepted a bid to become a pledge of Gamma Delta Gamma," he said. "You have all started to learn the history of our fraternity and the values that bind us together as brothers."

I watched Maverick with bated breath. He was clearly enjoying giving the performance, his deep voice booming through the night, his movements fine-tuned like some seasoned master of rituals.

"But -- you are not brothers," he continued. "Not yet. An important part of every pledge's journey is rediscovering himself as a member of Gamma Delta Gamma. And so, tonight, you will each receive your pledge name. From now on, you are to call your pledge brothers only by that name."

Maverick had reached the end of the line to my left. He looked down at the horse kneeling there.

With an explosive flurry of movement, Maverick wheeled the sword around.

The horse did his best not to flinch as the sword landed on his left shoulder.

"From this day forth, you shall be known as..." Maverick began, dragging out the tension, "Seabiscuit!"

The line of brothers behind Maverick laughed appreciatively.

I quickly made the connection in my head -- the horse was on the cross country team.

Maverick went down the line, granting each pledge his new name.

"Spud," he intoned to the stubby pit bull with the pale eyes.

"Frenchie." The lion who had gotten drunk and made out with everyone he could get his hands on the night we had all accepted our bids. (The brothers laughed raucously.)

"Private." The German shepherd who had gotten an Army ROTC scholarship in high school and whose social media profiles were plastered with pictures of him posing in uniform.

I scanned my memories for some obvious trait that might be used to come up with my pledge name -- had I done something embarrassing since arriving at Burnley? What had I been posting on social media?

Maverick stopped in front of me. My gaze traveled up his body -- and I instantly felt my cock straining against the front of my pants.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, but it was too late. My brain had captured the image of me on my knees in front of the bull and earmarked it for later use.

Maverick was framed dramatically by the tail lights of the cars behind him. In the crisp March air, his breath looked like smoke billowing from the mouth of a fire-breathing, muscle-strapped beast. The vein running down his biceps popped as he raised the sword and tapped my shoulders. Despite the darkness, I saw his eyes light up with zeal.

"Balto!" he shouted.

I laughed along with the others, but later that night, I had to search for the name online to understand what it meant. Apparently it was a reference to an old animated movie based on a story about a feral husky that pulled off some amazing, life-saving feat.

Comparing the cartoon dog's black and white markings to my own, I immediately saw the resemblance. Still, though -- they named me after a dog? Don't get me wrong -- I'm cool with dogs, but I'm a wolf, damnit!

...

A bunch of us pooled money together and rented a house in the panhandle for the week. We loaded our cars with more booze than beachwear and hit the road Friday night.

I rode with Maverick and Grunt, our sergeant in arms, in the back seat of one of the sorority girls' cars. The other guys called brother number on me, and I was stuck riding bitch for five hours.

Halfway through the ride, I snored myself awake to raucous laughter from the older brothers. I wiped the drool from my chin, looking around blearily to try to figure out where we were. Night had fallen -- thankfully, since I suddenly realized that the vibration of the car on the highway had given me a ranging sleep boner. I moved my hoodie to strategically cover my crotch.

"Aw, who's a sweepy pwedge?" Maverick said, putting me in a playful headlock and tousling my head fur.

Christie clicked her tongue, eyeing us disapprovingly in the rear view mirror. "Ugh, I can't believe I'm spending my last spring break with a bunch of Gamma D's," she said.

"Ah-ah," Grunt said, wagging a finger at her. "You don't call a fraternity a frat. Just like you wouldn't call a country a --"

He trailed off, leaving us to complete the joke in our heads.

Despite herself, Christie immediately burst out laughing. Allie the labradoodle looked around in confusion, her curls dancing around her face.

"Call it a what?" she asked the car at large, growing angry as we laughed louder at her for not making the connection. "No, seriously, call a country a what?"

...

We got there late that night.

I was impressed that the beach house looked like the listing. The white, three-story duplex stood raised from the sands on wooden poles, a decision I assumed protected it, however temporarily, from storm surges and the inevitable creep of the rising ocean.

There was a chill in the air that suggested spring hadn't fully taken hold yet.

Grunt seemed to be in a rush to get inside. As soon as Christy unlocked the front door, he bounded up the carpeted staircase. We heard him scrambling around above us, looking at each other in confusion.

"Guess he had to take a dump," Private said.

Grunt called out from somewhere in the beach house: "Dibs on this bedroom!"

His declaration set off a mad scrambled up the stairs. I bounced off Private, smacking against the wall and cursing him.

"Outta the way!" he shouted in glee. One of the girls shrieked in excitement. Spud was laughing.

I climbed to the top floor, hoping the rest of the group had peeled off to the other floors, but found Ana and Meaghan had claimed the sole bedroom there. I hurried back downstairs, leaping down five steps at a time, slamming into the walls as the stairs turned.

The second floor, too, was fully occupied. A few of the sorority girls had tossed their bags into the rooms and were arguing over who should get the bedroom with the jacuzzi.

I stumbled back downstairs again, looking this way and that, not sure where to put my stuff down. Spud and Private had had to settle for a sleeper sofa.

Maverick stepped out of his bedroom. He stood framed in the doorway, and despite it being well into the evening, he had already changed into another of his t-shirts-turned-tank-top and a pair of bathing shorts that hugged his thighs.

He saw the confusion on my face, grinned widely, pointed at me, and shouted for the rest of the house to hear: "Pledge, you're snuggling with me!"

...

The week quickly blurred together into a drunken parade of beach bumming, drinking games, mixed drinks that were mostly alcohol, and seafood platters.

By day three, most of us were severely sunburned; in Private's case, sunburned and made aware of a seafood allergy that announced its arrival after a particularly messy evening featuring peel-and-eat shrimp.

By day five, the house was dead between the hours of six in the morning and the early afternoon. On the whole, I felt I spent fewer of my nighttime hours actually asleep than I did fighting Maverick's bed-hogging, snoring bulk for enough space on our queen-size bed to keep me off the floor.

The intensity of our partying tapered off as the week progressed -- perhaps we had started off a little too strong. But as the final weekend of spring break approached, the specter of actual responsibilities haunting our thoughts, we made a conscious, unspoken decision to step it up again.

The second-to-last evening at the beach house, the upperclassmen in our group headed to a dive bar in the area, leaving me and the other underaged spring breakers to fend for ourselves.

I stayed at the beach house with Spud and Private, grilling burgers and sipping some beers by the pool.

Spud was in a bad mood. He was already in danger of being put on academic probation by the chapter, but he confessed to us that his grades this spring weren't looking any better, and that he would probably have to take classes over the summer.

Private and I made some vague promises about helping Spud during study hall, sprinkling in a few references to brotherhood and collaboration, but the pit bull seemed unconvinced. After a little while, he traipsed off to bed.

Some time later, the upperclassmen came spilling back into the beach house, bringing the life of the bar they had gotten thrown out of with them.

"King's cup!" Grunt announced to the house at large, and we all gathered around the kitchen island, drinks in hand.

With a gesture that suggested years of practice playing drinking games, Grunt spread a deck of cards into a circle. He placed an unopened beer can in the center, and then drew a card -- the two of spades.

"Two is for... you!" he said, holding up the card and pointing at Ana.

Ana tipped her drink in Grunt's direction and took a sip.

Grunt inserted the card under the tab of the beer can.

Maverick was next. He drew a card, his face splitting into a grin as he read it.

"Questions!" he said, holding up the queen of diamonds. He cleared his throat. "Christie, what's your shoe size?"

"Why do you want to know?" Christie shot back, her eyes narrowing as she answered his question with a question of her own.

Maverick turned to Grunt. "Who was that chick you were making out with at the bar?" he said with a note of feigned interest in his voice.

Grunt's face reddened slightly, but he kept the game alive. "Private, why do pledges suck?"

"I --" the German shepherd began "-- damnit!"

"Drink!" the rest of the room shouted.

In the end, it was Allie who inserted the card that made the beer can crack open with a fizz. Maverick took pity on her and drank the beer himself.

After king's cup, we played higher or lower. Then we played flip cup, splattering the kitchen with beer and shaking the walls as each team cheered on its players.

That's all I remember.

At some point well into the night, Maverick and I crashed into bed. The bull immediately claimed me as his little spoon, hugging me tightly against his chest, which for some reason felt damp. He nuzzled my nape with his snout, his nose ring rubbing against my fur. He exhaled in relaxation. I smelled the alcohol on him.

"Go to sleep, pledge," he commanded.

"OK, dad," I said -- and I was out.

...

I awoke an unknown time later, feeling parched, queasy, and confused. I must have been in the middle of a sex dream -- I was hard as steel, and my balls were drawn up tight against my body as though I were seconds away from shooting all over the sheets. As I slowly came to, I felt something else: hands. Maverick was running his hands all over my body, brushing past my nipples, teasing my shaft, massaging my balls, and rubbing up and down my crack.

I tensed up.

Maverick must have noticed, because he brought his mouth to my ear again.

"Shh, pledge," he grunted, slurring his words. "We're just snuggling. Just snuggling... Go back to sleep."

I continued to drift in and out of sleep, not knowing which parts of my intensifying dreams were real. At one point in the night, I thought my mouth was being forced open. At another, I could have sworn I felt something wide and wet exploring my crack.

When next I awoke -- and this time I was sure I wasn't dreaming -- I couldn't feel Maverick next to me. But in the darkness of our bedroom, I could see the shape of his bulk moving around under the sheets and feel his warm breath on my crotch.

I froze again, but I didn't say a word. Whatever Maverick had done to me in the night had me aching for release.

Instead of stopping him from doing whatever he was about to do, I said and did nothing and pretended to be asleep.

Maverick gently wrapped his fingers around the base of my cock, squeezing it and trapping the blood there. Something cold touched my balls -- his nose ring. He dragged it slowly down my sack, inhaling deeply through his nose.

Still holding my cock, he took each ball carefully into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue.

Only when the fur on my sack was matted with spit did he begin to pay attention to my cock. He began by tickling the underside of it with his tongue, teasing me as he inched closer and closer to the tip. Then he circled my cockhead with his tongue, seemingly relishing in torturing me.

I clenched my jaw to suppress a moan. I so badly wanted to hump forward and shove my cock down the bull's throat, but I feared that revealing that I was awake would bring the amazingly arousing performance to an end.

Finally Maverick took my cock in his mouth. He paused at the bottom, his nose ring resting against my pubic fur, moving his tongue around to coat my cock with spit. As he pulled back, I felt yet another intoxicating sensation: fingers wandering down my taint in search of my tailhole.

With my cock now in his mouth, Maverick used his free hand to spread my legs. His fingers found my pucker and began to massage it, working with the muscle to probe deeper and deeper with every push. At one point, the fingers joined his mouth at my cock, and when they returned to my hole, they were slick enough to slip inside me.

Maverick immediately found my prostate and began to rub it. I couldn't help myself -- I let out a soft moan.

Maverick continued unabated. Did he know I was awake?

Gradually, Maverick began devoting less attention to my cock, jerking it slowly with one hand and only using his mouth when the spit was beginning to dry out.

Meanwhile, he was focusing nearly all of his efforts on my hole. Every now and then, I'd hear him produce a big gob of spit, which would land on my taint and slide down to my hole, where he would work it into me with two -- three? -- however many fingers he was using.

I had never experienced a prostate orgasm before, but there was a heat growing inside me that I had never felt before, and Maverick seemed like he could do this all night.

Except he didn't. A couple of minutes later, he stopped abruptly, and I held my breath, listening for footsteps or voices or any kind of sound from the other room.

False alarm -- I felt Maverick at the entrance to my hole again. He spread my legs wider, except this time, he used both hands, and there was still something resting against my tailhole --

I clenched my hole as I realized what was happening. Maverick had been fingering and stretching my hole in preparation to fuck me.

I had never seen him naked, but the hard, warm thing pushing against my hole felt huge. He pulled back and spat into his hand, then applied the fresh lubricant to his cock. He pushed forward, huffing with lust as he sank a little deeper. I heard him spit in is hand again.

The dueling sensations of terror and thrill shot through me, wrestling for control of my body.

Wait, a voice in my head called out -- Spud and Private were sleeping just on the other side of the wall, mere feet away from us!

Except -- there was no way they could hear, a different voice whispered seductively. They were likely still passed out.

No, wait -- this was wrong. Maverick was a senior brother of the chapter, and I was just a pledge. This wasn't right.

But then another, more devious thought crossed my mind: If I relaxed my hole just a bit --

And my body betrayed me, unclenching enough to allow Maverick's cockhead to pop inside me. The time he had spent fingering me helped him sink his entire length effortlessly into me with one long push. He moved my legs to rest on his shoulders, and all of a sudden I found myself on the receiving end in a missionary position, giving up my ass to the big bull.

"That's it, pledge," he growled in my ear. "Open up for dad."

Maverick's words, compounding with the parade of pleasure that had come before them, finally sent me over the edge. As he ground his crotch against my ass, my cock sandwiched between our bodies, I came all over my stomach, dribbling out a big, messy load that ran down my sides and soaked into the sheets under us.

My face burned with embarrassment in the darkness. Maverick raised himself up slightly to look at the sticky mess between us, as though amazed by what his cock was capable of doing. Then he lowered himself down into it, rubbing our bodies together.

He was only getting started, however. He began fucking me with long, deep strokes, savoring the feeling of my hole gripping his cock as he pulled out yet relaxing to let him sink to his balls as he pushed forward.

Maverick must have sensed the tension in the rest of my body, because at one point, he rumbled "Moan for dad, pledge," and I involuntarily let out a long, quavering moan that I didn't even know had been bottled up inside me.

My body, already spent, seemed to be responding in some animalistic way to the bull's dominance, accepting its new, submissive role. Every time Maverick claimed me with one of his thrusts, I found myself spreading my legs wider and pushing back against him, a fresh moan escaping from my lips.

Not once did Maverick feel a need to change positions, choosing instead to fuck me on my back, steadily ramping up the intensity of his thrusts. I lay on my back passively with my legs raised, leaving Maverick in full control of the speed and power. My orgasm had long worn off, but the rhythmic slapping of the bull's balls against my ass sent me into a kind of numb, hypnotic trance.

I snapped out of it several minutes later when his grunting and thrusting suddenly intensified. He drove himself forward like a piston, bottoming out and holding himself there wih force as he flooded my guts with cum, barely muffling a roar of satisfaction. I felt the force of each spurt hit deep inside me.

Breathing heavily, he pulled out and wiped the tip of his softening cock on my ass. I thought he might say something as he kneeled above me, all muscles and veins and fur, his wide chest rising and falling. Instead he fell back onto the bed next to me, the bed springs creaking. Then he grabbed me around the chest and forced me into a spooning position, growling with satisfaction.

In what felt like seconds, he was snoring into my ear, leaving me staring into the darkness, sweating and buzzing in the afterglow.

...

I woke up on my stomach the next morning to the distant sound of running water. Somewhere in the building, the AC unit kicked into action, and a second later, I felt cold air on my crack, which still felt slick. I imagined that I had tossed and turned and shifted the covers around in the night, leaving my lower body exposed. I lowered my tail and tried to fall back asleep.

The sound of running water stopped. Half asleep, I registered the door to the bathroom opening. The room fell silent again, and I listened for signs of what Maverick was doing.

Then I felt the bull's weight on the mattress, his hand on my shoulder, and his cock digging into my crack.

He pushed forward with grunt, and my hole, still lubricated and stretched from the night before, took all of him.

I gasped as he bottomed out, feeling the weight of his sack on mine.

He grabbed me around the chest and crushed me with his bulk.

"Good morning, pledge," he said playfully, nibbling on my left ear.

I made a weak sound of protest, stunned by the sensation of his girth forcing its way into me all at once.

"Maverick --" was all I managed.

He shushed me and shifted his grip so that one of his beefy forearms was in my face.

"Bite down on this if you have to," he said as he began to thrust in and out of my sloppy hole. "I want you all to myself."

I buried my face in the muscle of his forearm. If I were to have cried out, it would have been in pleasure. The initial shock of Maverick entering me had worn off, and the feeling of his cock stretching me open again, combined with the soreness from having been fucked just a few hours previously, was driving me wild.

He chuckled in my ear. "Technically, you were supposed to say 'And a fine morning to you as well, Brother Maverick.' But I guess I can let this one... slide." He forced his cock as deep as it would go again, laughing at his own pun.

Maverick was in no mood to go slow that morning. Soon he was jackhammering away at my hole, his body slapping lewdly against my ass, the bed shaking. I clung to his arm and arched my back to brace myself against his thrusts.

When he came, he punctuated his orgasm with three forceful thrusts. Then he pulled out as quickly as he had entered me, the suddenness of it sucking the air right out of my lungs.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed. "Now I've gotta shower again."

He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me sprawled on the bed in a daze. My back was damp with our sweat. Cum trickled from my hole and down my balls, which ached from having been battered by Maverick's hefty sack.

I barely registered that the shower turned back on as I tried to comprehend the events of the previous night. Maverick was acting like we were horny teenagers who had the house all to ourselves for the first time. Yet I had no idea what I had agreed to -- or if I even had.

Maverick re-emerged from the bathroom after a quick rinse.

"Look alive, pledge," he said, slapping my ass and drawing a yelp from me. "We're headed to Belize City for the afternoon."

And without another word, he got dressed and left the bedroom, leaving me in a stupor of confusion.

...

The day passed in a blur. The group stayed together the entire afternoon, making it impossible to pull Maverick aside and ask him what was going on.

Instead I replayed what I little I remembered of the previous evening in my head, trying to think of something I might have said or done to give Maverick the idea that I wanted to sleep with him. I couldn't think of anything.

That only left one possible explanation. Technically, he had -- I mean, I didn't exactly consent to it, unless I had when I was hammered -- but in that case, I wouldn't have been in any state to give consent, so wasn't it, in some sense...?

I couldn't even bring myself to think the word.

Whatever had happened last night definitely wasn't right. But just thinking about it got me going -- the feeling of the bull's fingers and tongue, the dirty words he had growled in my ear as his cock sunk into me... I had to tuck my cock in the waistband of my shorts as I felt myself begin to swell.

A full afternoon of pondering the previous night got me nowhere closer to deciding how I should feel about it. I made up my mind to talk to him once we were back at the house.

I rode back from Belize City in Spud's truck, but halfway back to the beach house, he blew a tire, and we were stuck waiting for roadside assistance for hours. I offered to stay and wait with Spud instead of having someone come pick me up, a decision I soon regretted as the wait stretched into the night.

When we finally got back to the beach house, it was past midnight. Spud fell onto his and Private's pull-out couch fully clothed and looked in no mind to get undressed. I waited for a moment in front of the door to my and Maverick's bedroom, steeling myself for what might await me on the other side.

I opened the door stealthily and found Maverick fast asleep, his back to me.

I crept into bed behind him, staring at the back of his head. I had to wake him. I needed to talk to him. His name was fully-formed in my mouth. All I needed to do was say it aloud.

But I didn't.

...

I opened my eyes the next morning and found Maverick face-to-face with me, his eyes open.

"Hey, pledge," he said, and he pulled me close to him. He was naked, his cock already hard. I felt it throb between us as he growled, "Think we've got time for a quickie before we head home?"

I put a paw on his chest to maintain some distance between us. I opened my mouth, and the words spilled out of me.

"Maverick, I don't know what's been going on these past couple of days, OK? I wake up in the middle of the night, and your hands are all over me, and then I fall asleep, and then the next thing I know is you're... going to town on me and then pretending the next morning like it's no big deal? What's going on?"

I wiped my eyes as I felt them welling with angry tears. I didn't want them to distract from the words I was trying to get out.

Maverick looked lost. "But -- the other night? The jacuzzi?"

"I don't remember anything from that night!" I said.

Except now I did. I remember being drunk -- very, very drunk. We had been jumping on Christie and Meaghan's bed -- naked, of course -- and then... we had somehow gotten in the jacuzzi and turned on the jets. Maverick had guffawed and said something about how the jets were giving him a boner, and then I had drunkenly waded over to feel for myself.

My stomach clenched as I remembered that I had even tried to dive down and take his cock in my mouth, except the hot water had gotten in my snout.

Maverick had taken me in his arms and proceeded to jokingly and sloppily perform CPR on me, stopping only when he realized my cock was digging into his side... and then we had started making out... and then he had ground his cock up and down my crack while I wrapped my legs around his waist... and then I had remembered what he said when he claimed me for his beach house bedroom and suggested we go "snuggle..."

"I raped you."

The words snapped me back to the present. Maverick was on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He was pulling down hard on his horns, the big veins in his biceps popping as though he were trying to snap them off.

"What? No, that's not --"

"No, that's rape, dude!" he said, cutting across me. "That's rape! I had to learn that stuff for the sexual assault awareness workshop with Dr. Abrams! That's slide four -- acquaintance rape! Eighty-four percent of all cases of sexual assault on campuses happen between people know who each other! Half of rapes happen when alcohol is involved! I know this shit!"

Maverick grabbed his nose ring with one hand and tugged, scrunching up his eyes in pain. He was pulling so hard I feared he was going to tear the ring from his septum.

I couldn't help but that suppress an inappropriate snort of laughter in response to the fact that, in the middle of the terrible realization how I had experienced the last day and a half, Maverick had rattled off a bunch of facts about sexual assault at colleges and universities.

He let go of his nose ring and let his arms fall limply to rest at his sides. He stared up at the ceiling again, his eyes glassy.

"I understand if you want to call the cops," he said in a pained voice. "No -- you_should_ call the cops."

He turned his head to look at me, and I tried and failed to wipe the smirk from my face.

"Dude, this isn't funny!" he said, and he punched me in the shoulder. His anger immediately turned to regret.

"Fuck! I'm a fucking idiot!" He covered his face with a palm. After a few seconds of seething silence, he added. "I'm sorry, Devin. I'm so, so sorry. I'm gonna accept full responsibility for what I did. That's... that's all I can say."

I was momentarily surprised at the sound of my own name. I couldn't remember Maverick calling me by it since before the night when I had kneeled in the woods outside of Burnley and he had tapped me on the shoulders with that massive sword, dubbing me "Balto."

"Maverick --" I said again, but he tried to wave my words away, face still hidden by his hand. "No, listen to me," I said, more powerfully this time. "What happened -- it's OK. I mean, it's not OK OK, but -- damn, I had no idea you were... into me like that, or whatever."

A spark of hope flashed across Maverick's face, then vanished. He folded his arms and turned his back to me.

<

"Don't try to make me feel better," I heard him say with a huff.

I said his name and put a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off and shifted to the edge of the bed.

I stared at the back of his head as I continued talking. "I'm just this pledge, this nobody freshman, and you're this big-deal senior. You're my pledge dad."

He snorted. "Dude, you have been giving me the puppy-dog eyes since Day One," he said. "Why do you think I named you 'Balto'?"

I grinned guiltily -- apparently I hadn't been as sneaky with my wandering eyes as I had thought.

I continued. "Besides, you were driving me crazy the other night. I've never cum like that before."

Speaking the sexual fantasy-turned-reality out loud was making me hard. Determined to show him that I wasn't mad, I slipped my underwear off and hanged them from one of his horns.

"Come on, pledge dad," I said. "How about that quickie?"

He pulled my underwear off his horn and held them up so that he could see them.

"You cannot be serious," he said.

He turned over, and I saw the spark of hope had returned to his eyes.

A shiver danced through me. Maverick may have fucked me twice, but I felt intimidated by being naked in front of the bull in daylight.

"I think we can make this a lot more fun now that I know what's going on," I said.

He looked at me for a moment, his expression blank. Then his face split into a mischievous grin.

"Come to daddy, pledge," he growled.

He grabbed me by the scruff and pulled me on top of him. I gave him a deep kiss, pushing my tongue into his mouth, and then pulled away and sat up, straddling his crotch.

I grabbed our sheaths and massaged them together. My cock quickly poked out, and Maverick's, reacting to my visible arousal, began to spill out as well.

I closed my hand around our cocks with one hand, but his continued to lengthen and swell, forcing my fingers apart.

Maverick's cock had been inside me twice, but this was the first time I had actually seen it. It easily dwarfed mine, nearly twice as long and much wider. It was black, mottled with pinkish splotches, and its flared head swelled in front of my eyes.

I stared at his cock with my mouth half open, going back and forth in my mind about attempting to fit it in my mouth.

Maverick made the decision for me. He stuck a couple of fingers in his mouth, coating them in spit, and then shoved them against my hole.

"Gotta make this quick, remember?" he said.

I nodded, spreading my cheeks and lifting my tail for him.

He fingered me roughly, barely giving me enough time to adjust to one finger before adding the next. Satisfied, he spat in his hand and jerked himself hard and slick.

I climbed over his cock and lined up the head with my hole. His hand shifted to my ass, forcing my cheeks apart and pushing himself inside me. I moaned as I took his cock and gasped when my ass hit his crotch.

There was no time for me to adjust to the size of his cock. From outside, we heard the unmistakeable sound of a car trunk opening and the rumble of voices.

Our fuck instantly became a race to completion. I brought my legs forward to squat over him as he pounded into me from below, jerking myself with short, quick strokes, my eyes shut tightly with concentration.

Maverick was winning, however -- or maybe I was winning. I didn't know -- it was becoming hard to focus on anything but the big cock in my ass. I didn't need to jerk off. All I needed was to get fucked, to get bred by the bull, to service his cock with my hole and milk every last drop from his balls.

I couldn't hold out any longer. Surrendering to the overpowering feeling of being fucked, I let go of my cock, falling forward on my knees and grabbing his chest for support.

Maverick responded with renewed vigor, and five pumps later, I came on his stomach, shooting in a straight line that nearly reached his chin.

Another three pumps and he joined me, shooting two spurts inside me before his cock slipped out and finished all over my lower back and ass.

Half a second later, someone pounded on the door to our bedroom.

We both froze, our heads snapping in the direction of the door so fast I tweaked my neck. Thankfully, the door remained shut.

"Are you lovebirds up?" we heard Spud calling from the other side of the door. "We're leaving in fifteen!"

We looked at each other. Maverick's eyes narrowed seductively, and he rubbed his softening cock along my cum-splattered crack.

"No time to shower," he said with a lewd grin.

...

Maverick graduated that spring. We rarely talked and saw each other even less often after that. Still, whenever he'd come back to town for an alumni event at the chapter, we'd slip away from the crowd, and he would fuck me so hard I couldn't walk straight for the rest of the weekend, cooing into my ear about how I was still his pledge.

Oh yeah -- I guess I'm burying the lead here. I ended up staying at Burnley. I suppose you could say I found my home away from home.

I'm a rising senior now. I give campus tours, mentor students in the political science department, and I shout myself hoarse cheering for our terrible basketball team.

And obviously I'm pretty involved with the Gamma D's. As a matter of fact, I'm running for pledge dad.